


“Aaravos.”

by zyr (zhadyra)



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Claudia is mentioned for like one (1) second, Gen, Podfic Available, Sensory Overload, Thoughts of elarion, aaravos character study, aaravos time in the mirror, athmospheric, kind of, mirror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-19 00:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20322208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhadyra/pseuds/zyr
Summary: Everything suddenly looks different when you live on the other side of a mirror.





	“Aaravos.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was convinced to also write for tdpbigbang so now this exists! I had lots of fun to explore my favourite character and give him a little twist.  
I hope you like it!

There is a flicker in the mirror, for the first time in eons.  
There’s a flicker in the mirror, a flicker in the darkness that he likes to stare into and that alone catches his attention.

There’s never a flicker.

There’s no light, no movement, no sound, nothing that gives his senses anything to hold onto.

But now there is a flicker and the curtain looks like it lifts from the other side.

He can’t see anything on the other side, but he knows that it’s the magic shielding him from view.  
There’s no way for him to see and no way for whoever is on the other side to see him.  
But there is a flicker and he can’t help but step closer to the mirror and extend his magic along with his hand.

He can feel it, almost like a wall, rippling wherever he touches, moving away and moving against him at the same time, a sensation that has him wanting to reach further and to withdraw at the same time.  
It’s a sensation he knows.  
When he was first imprisoned he had tried to find a way out, had tried to push through the magic and had tried to escape, to be anywhere but here, trapped in this lonely room with only a small neighbouring chamber.  
He would have given anything to flee from this place, anything, because not all the written and unwritten books in the world could be enough to replace the world, the real world, Xadia, freedom, Elarion.

He brings his attention back to the feeling at his fingertips. If he would think about her or everything else that he knew before his banishment his concentration would waver, influenced by treacherous emotions.  
The wall pulses, waves rising under his fingertips.  
He doesn’t give in to the desire to push even though it feels like he is being pulled in by the power and he doesn’t give in to the desire to pull away even though it feels like he is being pushed away by reverence.

He just feels the wall, feels over it gently, moves to the right and left, up and down, simply feeling.  
Something is different, there shouldn’t be a flicker, there is never a flicker, and he has to find out what it is.

When he had first felt for a way to escape he pushed and it had brought him nothing but pain. Then he had pulled away and it had brought him nothing but pain.  
He’s perfected the art of just touching, just feeling, neither pushing, nor pulling.

He knows how the mirror feels, knows it intimately.

He’s spent too much time searching it, too much time experiencing and getting to know it.  
He knows it now, could paint the image with eyes closed and no reference.

And this time it is different, different from all the other times that he has explored how the magic moves beneath his touch, different from when he first touched it and different from when he last touched it.

It’s no obvious change, nothing he can grasp, but it is something like a flavour in a cup of tea, very mild, as if someone has added a whiff of mint into a herbal brew.  
It’s mild, but to him, who he has tasted the same tea for decades, every day again and again, it is a change that is easily detected.

He breathes in and let’s his breath go again.

It’s taxing, concentrating on something this powerful for so long, but it is worth it when he finds the difference in the movement, the way the pulsing is slightly slower and the way that he can place his hands between the waves that are running over the mirror’s surface.

He can push deeper than he ever could before and he doesn’t know if he should be afraid of it or not.

The curtain on the other side has been removed, there had been a flicker and there is a slight change in the magic, the slight change that gives him the opportunity to do something.

Thoughts of “finally” are running through his mind and he has to temper himself before they mess with his perfect concentration. There is no option for feelings.

A slow smirk is widening on his face, his lips closed, one side of his mouth just a little higher than the other.

He places his hands, both now, places them between the ripples of power and he pulls.

He pulls and pulls and pulls the margins of the force away from each other, thinning out the magic, like bread dough, spread on a table.

The spell won’t rip, won’t break, he knows that. There’s little power that can achieve something like that and he has tried with all his power and failed. But maybe, just maybe if he stretches it thin enough he can see what is going on on the other side, can see what is happening, can find a way to communicate and to be free again.

His thoughts are racing and his mind is already running ahead, lightning fast, coming up with plans and possibilities that lie in seeing the other side. He carefully takes them and locks them away to the farer corners of his mind. He can’t afford to be distracted, to not be fully immersed in this moment and this moment only.

He pulls, slowly, pulls and pulls more and finally he starts to feel resistance. He pulls again, with very much delicacy and is rewarded with a slowly approaching end. If he pulls too hard, everything will snap back, if he doesn’t pull hard enough, nothing will happen.

There’s a small line between pulling too hard and not hard enough and he treads it carefully.

When it doesn’t snap, but he feels like he can’t pull any more, he stays like this.  
He just holds it in place, no ripples between his hands anymore.  
His eyes have slipped closed and he doesn’t know for how long he’s been standing here. Time starts to feel different after eons.

He stays with his hands touching the mirror softly and a smile lingering on his face.  
If this works, if he succeeds he’s one step closer to getting back two of the things he’s lost.  
There’s no regaining the third.

The smile falls from his face when the magic fights him, but he stays strong, like a rock under a surge of waves, stays strong and steady and the sea calms down around him.

He’s won this fight and he will continue to win.  
He slowly moves back, only his fingertips touching the mirror.

He stays like this, in anticipation of another onslaught of waves that will break the boulder, but it never comes.

He takes a step back, his fingers moving away from the surface and when he finally has lost physical contact with the barrier, he slowly opens his eyes.

He opens his eyes and stares, stares because he can see, for the first time in centuries he can see the other world, can see his homeland, can see where he is being kept.  
Emotion surges up to the back of his throat but he pushes it down. There is no time for it now either.

He takes a step closer again, absentmindedly drawing runes in the air, protection, blindness and similar ones, and then he stands still.

There’s no sound, the barrier probably still prevents it, but he can see. He can see a dark room, with familiar utensils in it, a room that is small and insignificant and yet he is overwhelmed by it.  
Seeing only the same two rooms for so long has made him weak to everything else.

Nothing happens on the other side, but still he stands in front of the mirror, watching, until the light has dimmed and gotten stronger again.  
Time is running away from him it seems and for the first time in what feels like forever he sees a person again.

It’s a human. A man with brown hair and a beard. The man is carrying a staff and he can’t help but let his eyes linger on it.

This man, this human man is a mage and he has a staff.

His lips turn up again, a devious smile forming on his face. He can use this. He can use this opportunity and this man to get out of here, to be free again, finally.

There’s a pause when the man just sits in the chair that stands in front of the mirror. He sits and watches and it almost seems comical that he is watching an empty mirror with nothing but his mirage looking back at him. For a moment there is doubt in his mind that maybe, just maybe the man can see him.  
But then the other starts talking, starts talking to an empty mirror and all worry is wiped from his mind.

The man doesn’t seem to know what gift has been bestowed upon him.  
He doesn’t seem to know what to do with the mirror or what to expect.

The man leaves and doesn’t come back for some time.

When he returns he is with a young girl. She’s pretty, he supposes, but he doesn’t really care about her. She isn’t his ticket out of here, she isn’t of use for him.  
The two humans talk, watch the mirror and then leave again.  
They’re insignificant but his attention is captured nonetheless.

He turns away from the mirror. His spells are keeping anyone from looking to his side and he doesn’t want to get into contact just yet. He has to make a plan first. He is not going to waste this chance.  
He’s going to do this the right way this time. No more mistakes. No more loosing.

He heads to his books and starts selecting a few.

He’s reading a lot and thinking a lot in the next time. It feels like only a blink of the eye has gone by when he feels something changing again. It’s not the foreign magic this time. It’s not the barrier keeping him locked in.  
It’s his own magic that is intact and he feels something pushing at it.  
There’s a small push, like a small child tried to punch the leg of an adult and the first time it happens, he doesn’t even notice it.

But the small pushes continue, like rain falling down onto a glass roof and it starts to tickle in the back of his mind, the point where the connection to his spell thrums.  
He closes his eyes and feels after it and when he looks at the cause more clearly, he finds it to be coming from the other side of the mirror. Logically he knows this already, but simply the feeling of another’s magic against his, another’s magic that isn’t the same barrier he’s been feeling for centuries, feeling another person's existence is exhilarating.

This is the moment, he decides. And he lets go of his spells, let’s the magic break and fall away from where it was wrapped around the mirror frame until there’s nothing left.

He’s not in the library, can’t be in the library, because every single point of contact would be too much.

He lets the barrier fall and he lets the human on the other side see.

There’s not much to be seen, he supposes, but it’s enough to impress a limited mind.  
His plan will work out.  
He concentrates on his books again.

The next time something is different is when he walks into the library and the man is there.  
He’s not there physically of course, he’s not in the room, but he notices his presence immediately.

He walks over to the shelves, puts some books away and goes to stand in front of the fire.  
He needs to calm down before facing the human. He needs to remember the plan.

At some point he turns again, walks to the mirror and takes in the entire picture that is shown to him.  
The room is wrecked and the man looks slightly disheveled and he smirks slightly at the sight.  
The man says something to him, but he can’t hear. Of course the magic is still strong enough to keep sound on the respective sides.  
That is going to change. He has to think about it again, in more detail.

He adjusts his coat, pretending he didn’t see the man, merely his own reflection and walks away again.

Time flies by and he decides to give the man a choice that he is sure won’t be hard. He knows how the man will decide, knows that the man will take his offer.

He stands in front of the mirror and the man stands on the other side, facing him. They look into each other’s eyes and he starts to move the table in front of the mirror.  
He then fetches a bowl, some ingredients and a knife.

He lays them out in front of him, showing them to the man. He motions for him to get the same ingredients. A silent conversation starts between them then and he starts explaining what they have to do.

The man surprises him.  
The man does not do as he is asked, the man does not comply with his wishes.

The man puts on a thinking face with maybe a tiny bit of hesitation and fear layered underneath.  
He feels it before the mood breaks. He feels it when he sees the slightest bit of hesitation in the man’s eyes.  
The man’s face turns angry and he pulls the curtain over the mirror again.

No matter how long the curtain had been there before, no matter how long he has lived exactly like this, the absolute separation from the real world is just as jarring as it was all this time ago when he first set foot into this prison. Maybe it’s even worse when he after tasting what freedom could feel like after an eternity was shut out again and thrown back in absolute seperation and solitude.

It’s sudden and it’s total and it is so unpredicted that it takes away his breath, leaving him standing only by will alone. He doesn’t know how he does it.

He takes a stuttering breath in and let’s it go again.  
He’ll try again. The human will come back. It’s going to work out. He is not going to loose again.  
There is no way.

So he turns around and walks to the fire again. He sits down and waits, regaining his composure. His plan is flawless and it will still work out, no matter if the human reacted differently or not. He’s going to make it work, he’s going to make himself win.

He waits and waits and this time, what has felt like the blink of an eye another time feels like never ending eons passing.

He feels rather than sees the man again.  
There’s a ripple on the magic behind him and he feels the curtain being lifted again.  
He is in the other room but as soon as he feels the sensation that is not yet familiar, he stands, turns and walks over into the other room, to the even surface of the mirror.

There’s a selfsatisfied smile on his lips and he knows that it will annoy the human. It always annoys them. But he just can’t help himself.

The human stands before the table and takes up the knife to his hand.  
He has prepared a matching set of utensils.  
He doesn’t look good, he looks tired, haggard and it seems like his hair has greyed even more. The man looks tired and stressed and like he has nothing left to loose. It’s ideal for him.

He doesn’t have to prepare the ritual, start putting ingredients together in a slow tempo so that the human can follow his instructions. He simply has to slice his palm and let his blood drop into the bowl. The smile never leaves his face.

He motions for the human to follow.

There’s hesitation there again, he sees it clear as day and when it starts to take root, he changes his behaviour. His face grows softer and his smile more reassuring. He needs this human to do this, needs this human to pour his blood so that he can live again.

The human looks at him and he has to have done something right because the human slices his hand and adds his blood into his bowl.

His smirk grows wider, he can’t help himself. He’s succeeding.  
The bowl is lightening up and a swirling pink mass is moving in it. It’s glowing and steaming and he can’t tell exactly if it’s fluid or smoke.  
He doesn’t need to.  
He won’t have to do much more.  
The rest of the steps are easy. Sweet talking is his speciality after all.

He slowly opens his mouth, eyes still kept on the human. The little millipede crawls over his tongue, over his lips, onto the waiting hand he has put to his face.  
It will help him speak in the other world, it will give the other world a part of him through which he can live, if only a little.

He watched the man intently and he sees the confusion, the slight repulsion and every emotion that plays out on his face. The man doesn’t have very good control over his tells, or maybe he just has gotten good at reading people despite not having any interaction in so long.

He looks at the little insect on his hand for a second before he sets it down in the pink swirls.

The portal they created wavers and moves, rising up before falling into itself, disappearing completely.

The millipede sits in the other bowl, he can see it circling around, can feel it walking on its legs.  
The man looks at it and he takes the chance to let it crawl out of the bowl, onto the man’s hand and into his sleeve. Up and up and up until it has reached the man’s shoulder where it exits the clothing and crawls even higher until it curls around the man’s ear.

The man seems surprised, a bit disturbed and shocked, maybe even disgusted.

The head of the millipede, his mouth, is at the middle of the ear when he starts talking.

“Speak. Speak so that I may hear you,” he says, longing for the sound of the other’s voice and fearing it at the same time. He’s not used to sensation and he doesn’t know how jarring this will be, what it will do to him. But he has heard sounds over the time he was trapped and he has heard his own voice talking so he figures that he will be able to keep in control when the man will speak.

But the human just twists and turns, looking around himself, looking for someone who spoke, but there is no one. The human is alone in the room, alone with him and all the expectant tension that runs through the entire room, out of the mirror even, it feels like to him.

He doesn’t speak again, the man finally does it for him. He stutters terribly, but manages to bring forward a question in the end.

“Hh- hh- i- who are you?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He waits a single moment and just bathes in the sound of another’s voice. It’s overwhelming, too much and not enough at the same time. He yearns for the real world even more now that he hears it.

“Aah how long I have waited to hear the sound of another voice,” he says to make it clear that he is ancient and because it is the truth and he can’t but speak it.  
“How may I serve you?” he asks because it’s what will maybe not gain him trust, but he doesn’t need trust. He just needs this man to do what he wants and this is how he is going to get him to.

“Who are you?” the man asks again and he has already said these words. He is tired of them. He wants to hear the man speak more, speak other words, wants to hear all the sounds of the existing world again.

“My name would mean nothing to you,” he answers because it’s the truth and because the man doesn’t need to know his name in order to be useful.

“Where are you?” the man asks then, sighing, apparently frustrated that he isn’t getting the answers he wants. But he doesn’t need them, just thinks he does.

“I...don’t know,” he says, again because it is true, but also because that is the only answer he has. He doesn’t know how this dimension works, this prison, he only knows that it was built using higher magic than he can access.

“Don’t lie to me,” the human says as if he could read him easily. A suspicious little one that he found there. But the man is also ill advised in questioning his honesty, the honesty of one or the more powerful beings in the world. Or maybe not in the world anymore.

“I’m not lying. I never lie,” he answers, more amused than angry because this little, powerless human has the audacity to question him. He can’t take him seriously.

“I found this mirror in the lair of the dragon king. This mirror meant something to him,” the human questions and he already knows too much for his taste. But of course this is where he got the mirror. Where else would he have gotten it.

“Perhaps,” he says because it’s neither wrong nor the full answer.

“Tell me what you need and I’ll help you,” he says because it’s true and he needs the man to continue so that he can finally execute his plan.

“I need your name,” the human insists and he nearly rolls his eyes. How bothersome.

But he keeps on smiling. He pulls back his hood, finally, and let’s his horns and hair free, shows them to the other.

“Aaravos.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are very appreciated <3
> 
> Please also make sure to check out my absolutely more than amazing artist who made a gif for me!!!
> 
> https://panoramicvacuum.tumblr.com/
> 
> Find me on twitter @pxssnelke

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] "Aaravos."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22772908) by [lysandyra (zhadyra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhadyra/pseuds/lysandyra)


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